"I stink," Reginald complained, as they made their way down the small road. "And my rags are falling apart! We need to get some new clothes. I can''t go back to our lodgings, low rent as they are, like this!"

    For once Urt agreed, they were both worse for wear, and a long bath with plenty of perfumed soap was needed. He looked around. They''d obviously been underground for an entire day, as it was well into evening again. Currently they were in a tangled maze of small streets, which all looked about the same to him.

    "Where are we anyway?" asked Reginald.

    "I think the hotel is that way," Urt replied.

    "Are you sure? I think it''s that way." The were-sheep pointed in another direction altogether. "Why don''t we ask this urchin?" he asked, nodding at a young boy of about ten, dressed in the apparently customary grey shorts and flat cap. The youngster was sitting on a barrel watching them.

    "Hey lad, where are we?" Reginald called over to him.

    "What''s it t'' you?" the boy asked, in way of reply. "I can guide you, if you''re lost. For a fee." He jumped off the barrel and folded his arms.

    The two approached, and the urchin staggered backwards dramatically, holding his nose. "Blimey! You two don''t ''alf pong! Watcha been doin'', runnin'' around in the sewers? You smell like a lav you does!"

    "We are aware of our current odour," Urt replied haughtily. "Now, do you know what this street is or not?"

    "You are lost!" The boy smiled and held out his hand. "Pay up and I''ll guide you right and proper, and no mistake."

    "I''m not lost, I just need to get my bearings." Urt looked left and right, in the traditional refusal of lost males the universe over to acknowledge reality.

    "Fair enough. Price will go up next time you ask though."

    "Perhaps I will use a spell to determine my location," Urt responded, stung into defending his honour.

    "You a wizard are you guvn''r? Show us a trick then!" The lad perked up a bit.

    "I don''t do tricks, I summon great magics," Urt replied in his most dignified voice.

    "You can''t can you? ''e can''t can ''e?" the lad asked Reginald.

    "I can create bugs that will eat you from the inside out you impudent worm!" Urt countered, deciding a necromancer shouldn''t have to take lip from an urchin.

    "Coooool," came the reply. "Go on then."

    "What?"

    "Eat me insides out!"

    "I''m not going to…" Urt was cut off.

    "It''s ''cos you can''t!"

    "It''s because I don''t wish to waste my time on a scruffy five year old," Urt said, though the temptation was beginning to grow.

    "I''m older than that! Prob''ly," the lad retorted, distracted from suicide by bug for the moment.

    "You don''t know how old you are?" Urt asked, before he could stop himself.

    "Course I do!"

    "So?"

    "So what?"

    "So how old are you?"

    "Why you want to know?"

    "I don''t!"

    "So why ask then?"

    "I don''t believe you know."

    "Oh, I seeeee," the lad said, tapping the side of his nose. "This is some kind of icony thing ''aint it?"

    "Irony," corrected Urt. He glanced at Reginald, but his companion was keeping his mouth firmly closed. Urt was beginning to wish he had too. He stopped suddenly and squinted down at the urchin, who picked his nose in response. "You''re not as stupid as you look."

    "Takes one t'' know one," the boy countered.

    "Very well then. Assuming we were lost…"

    "Knew it."

    "…Assuming we were lost," Urt went on, ignoring the interruption. "How much would it cost us for ..."

    "Shillin''"

    "I can see you take us for fools. You could buy half a pony with that."

    "Can''t see no use for ''alf an ''orse mister."

    "A single groat, and that''s generous."

    "Ten groats."

    "Ten groats is a shilling!"

    "Alright then, eight groats."

    "Two."

    "Seven."

    "Three, and not a farthing more."

    "Done."

    "Yes, I fear I have been." Urt made a face.

    "Fair enough, where too then guv?" their new guide asked.

    "I think we need a bath house, and some new clothes," Urt replied, patting his pouch which contained their plundered loot.

    "Off we go then!"

    ~ * ~

    Nicolas was in a truly bad mood when he finally traipsed into what passed for a high street in the small community of Mudrut. His shoes squelched with every step he took, and the hem of his cloak would have to be cut off and restitched somehow, he was sure, after trailing through Fue* knows what that littered the paths surrounding this squalid place.

    It was late afternoon now, and he had no d?s?r? to stay here overnight. He needed to find this boy, grab him, and then get back to his own place for a nice long bath. Usually he would just cast a spell, but some inner voice told him it wouldn''t be that easy.

    He looked about, and his eye fell on the nearest building, which happened to be a grocers.

    "May as well start somewhere," he snarled to himself, and squelched his way over.

    Inside was as exciting as he expected it to be. A small store crammed full of various items of the trade, mostly musty looking vegetables, thought where the shopkeeper acquired his stock out here was anyone''s guess.

    "You''ll ''ave to hurry, ''m just closin'' up," the man himself said. He was bending down, facing away from Nicolas, so he wasn''t aware of who he was addressing.

    "S... S... Sir, I don''t know where they went!" he stammered.

    This was not the opening line that Nicolas had expected.

    "Where who went?" he asked.

    "Any of them! The boy, the woman, the other woman, oh, wait, no I knows that one."

    "Which one?" Nicolas was lost already.

    "The angry woman sir. The one with the knives."

    Nicolas narrowed his eyes, making the shopkeeper visibly quake. "Describe her," he demanded.

    "She w... w... w..."

    "Was."

    "Was a... a... ang..."

    "Spit it out man!" Nicolas shouted, raising a hand. An ominous dark cloud began to form around his fist."

    "Angry!" the man squeaked.

    "Not half as angry as I''ll be if you don''t speak faster."

    "Shewaswearingleathersir. Andhaddaggersandabighorse," the man, thus encouraged, babbled. "AndshewentoffwiththeWarden."

    "The Warden?" Nicolas asked, once he''d deciphered this. "Who''s he?"

    "I am," came another voice from behind him. "You don''t happen to be a necromancer do you?"

    Nicolas twirled his large girth around like a planet''s rotation sped up, to face a giant of a man in leather armour, carrying an axe that was almost too big to fit in the shop. His nails were painted lilac, he noticed. A small dog stood at his feet, growling.

    "What if I am?"

    The Warden scowled. "We don''t like necromancers around here."

    Nicolas smiled and rolled his sleeves up. "Oh good, a philosophical debate. My favourite."

    The shopkeeper screamed and ducked for cover as the two men attacked each other.

    *Fue: Dark God of Spiteful and Overdue Revenge. Its followers are mainly overweight for some reason.